The remainder of the week flew by, and all too soon, Ichigo was heading home. Although spending time with the Vizards (and their boundless energy) would never be relaxing, exactly, he found a sort of equilibrium in their company that he'd been lacking since the end of the Winter War. It felt great to just be himself around them; he didn't have to pretend that he was fine, or that he knew how to feel about his own life, without what had become such an intrinsic part of it. He could just be, and they'd let him.
He returned home late on Sunday evening, well after the household normally went to bed. He shut the front door carefully behind himself and tiptoed through to the kitchen, dropping his bag on the couch on the way past. He got himself a glass of water with a weary sigh, drank it down, refilled it, and then took it through to the living room with the intent of setting up to study. He was, after all, a week behind on his homework again, although Ishida had stopped by the Warehouse to deliver it personally.
It was the first time Ishida had met the Vizards properly, and he'd had to wait outside until Hachi let him in. The others had all stared at him silently, assessing him, as he ignored them all, face inscrutable. He'd stayed long enough for tea and enough Ichigo-observation to satisfy their other friends before heading out again, but not without a typical Ishida parting comment. He'd said: "You might want to rethink the messages you give people, Kurosaki" – and as Ichigo had no idea what he meant, he'd ignored him.
He set the glass down on the coffee table in the darkened living room, then turned to get the light. He almost jumped out of his skin when a voice spoke from behind him.
"Had a good week, Ichigo?" his father asked from the couch, tone unreadable. As Ichigo flicked on the light and turned to face him, he realised that not only had he passed the man several times without noticing him in the dark, he'd also dropped his bag onto his head, and in typical fashion, there it remained. Ichigo rolled his eyes and leaned over to snatch it from the older man, but his father tugged it away, grinning.
"Gimme my bag, old man," Ichigo said, "I've got to start the catch-up work."
"Not until I have some answers," his father said, grinning wickedly. He patted the seat next to him. Ichigo grimaced, sighed, and sat opposite instead.
"I'm all ears," he said, deciding to humour the man for the moment.
"Excellent!" Isshin said. "Question one: did you have a good week, Ichigo?"
Ichigo eyed him warily, not sure where this was going. "I suppose," he admitted slowly.
"Good, good. Question two: are you planning on visiting your friends again soon?"
Ichigo nodded silently, brown eyes steady and confused.
Isshin smiled at him in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring, but was merely irritating. "Question three: have you seen Urahara Kisuke lately?"
"Not since I was at the Shoten the other weekend… Dad, where is this going?"
Isshin shook his head, and continued, "final question: do you share manly back slaps with him, or just with other men?"
Ichigo nearly fell out of his seat, instead settling for wildly flailing his arms in all directions.
Isshin finished, "Because, I must say Ichigo, the poor man must be feeling extremely - left out - by this point."
Ichigo ceased his spluttering and flailing long enough to pin him with a fierce gaze. "What do you mean, old man?" He asked darkly.
Isshin held up one finger, completely serious for a moment. "Well, son, he gives you space; hunts you down when he knows you've had enough time to yourself and are just getting more miserable; goes to all that effort to manufacture a reason to see you; arranges for you to reconcile with your friends; even arranges for a weeklong vacation with them, booking you out of school and everything – and you don't even go to visit him except when you feel obliged to."
Seeing Ichigo's wide eyes and slack jaw, Isshin decided not to bring up the whole He's In Love With You But Thinks You're In Love With Someone Else issue just yet – best not to push too hard, after all. His boy always had to figure things out at his own pace. No, better to leave that for now, he thought.
A nasty little voice in Ichigo's head suggested that his father was right, and he was an ungrateful, unfeeling idiot. He squashed it down, and – always more for action than thought – stood abruptly, saying, "right, well, I'll go see him now!"
Isshin looked momentarily alarmed. "It's the middle of the night! He's got the kids in the house, remember; I don't think he'd appreciate a visit right now. Besides, even geniuses need their sleep."
Ichigo deflated, seeing the sense in the other's words and seeming to fold back into his seat. "First thing tomorrow, then," he said musingly, and corrected himself at his father's cleared throat. "First thing after school, anyway."
Isshin nodded approvingly.
"So go away, Dad," Ichigo said distantly, "I'd better get started on this work".
Isshin stared at his son's face, and realised after a moment that Ichigo was not brooding, as he might have expected, but contemplative. He really has grown up, he thought fondly. So I guess he'll always be a bit dim when it comes to this sort of thing, but at least he can be pushed in the right direction. He stood quietly and left the room, murmuring a good night on his way to bed. Ichigo responded in kind, absently.